Ashamed
A short story
I ran water into my only cup. It is just 5:30 am. The air is so thin and dry, but cold as ice. Harmattan has really shown itself this December. I’m not complaining. I’ve been praying for it for two months now. I look around my one-room apartment, my thoughts echo back to me. “How did I get here?” I ask myself. I stand over the sink for another 3 minutes shivering.
The past month had been sloppy and slow. Everything wasn’t going as planned, and I was getting exhausted. December came around with a new air, a new reason to hold on to hope, but this morning it felt like last month. I was suddenly ripped out of my sleep world — cause lately, I’ve lost the ability to dream — by 4:07 am, left in the cold to fight my demons — alone — or ignore them, which is something I’ve grown acquainted with.
I’m late already, I have to get to work. Work. Once it was fun and appealing, but now I just can’t give up. I get into the shower — head first — trying to wash away the images I saw on Instagram. I remember the last time Ella and I spoke, she was pretty angry that I disappointed her. She planned a dinner for both of us. A way to get us to see after months of eternal excuses from me. I told her I was down with it. “By the way, I wasn’t that busy” I remember discussing with her. I was never busy. Ella called more than 50 times that evening, on all platforms she knew me on. I sent her a message the next day, claiming I had slept due to a major headache. I felt the sting in my heart when she said “It’s your life, Sarah”. Certainly, she knew I was lying. Ella is the smartest person I know.
At intervals — like this morning- I check her Instagram. Her bio has: STEM engineer at Google, Content creator (Travel vlogger), Volunteer @gifted — which is a foundation for deaf children. She even learned sign language because of them. — I cook for fun and a music lover. Yeah, that’s Ella for you, if she wanted to fly a plane today, she would. I could feel anger rising from the pit of my stomach. She never understood me. What was she even expecting us to talk about that evening, ehn? She wanted me to show up so she could finally get the answer to her famous question “What are you doing now, Sarah?” “Nothing Ella. Nothing,” I screamed into my echoing bathroom. “I’m not like you Ella. School was everything for me. It was the only thing I was good at. You succeed at anything you do, not me”. I broke down, crying “I don’t know what I’m doing Ella”.
When I saw videos of her with Adeola in Barcelona, Greece, Montenegro, and London. I resisted the urge with all my strength, but finally fell prey and checked Adeola’s profile. She’s a crypto trader now. She just bought a house in Banana Island, Lagos, and Orange County, USA. I looked at my mattress on the floor, my one burner gas cylinder, — which anyone can see cause I couldn’t afford two curtains for the bathroom and kitchen — my one jeans and a few blouses hanging on the wooden hanger I begged a carpenter to make for half his initial price. My throat clutched so hard, I had to rush to the kitchen to drink the water that had given me typhod twice.
Adeola wasn’t even that intelligent. Ella and I always had to tutor her over and over before exams. Now she’s traveling the world, buying things, and living her best life. How could she succeed to this level?
It’s been six years since graduation, five years since I spoke to Adeola last, — shortly after NYSC- and three years since Ella gave up on sending me messages. Her last message read “Young lady, how are…..” I haven’t opened them. It stopped at 25 unread messages.
I’m at my plastic table now, with my brother’s four-year-old laptop. I don’t know if it’s anger or drive but I’m ready to make this UI/UX pay me. These people lied to me, — they said I’d be making $10,000 in three months — I was already imagining myself in an apartment without a licking roof. Here I am, five months later, starting again. This is my last bus stop. If this doesn’t work, I might end up on Lagos street corners — the one place I had refused for as long as I can remember — hunting. “Another six months Ella,” I said through tears again “Another six months I promise”.
